


Gravity

by dreamlittleyo



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Confessions, First Kiss, Kissing, M/M, Sexual Tension, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, Wordcount: 100-2.000, Wordcount: Over 1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-08
Updated: 2011-04-08
Packaged: 2017-10-17 18:18:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/179818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur figures some things out. Cobb still manages to surprise him.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Gravity

Arthur learns the truth from Ariadne. Most of it doesn't surprise him.

"I expected you to be a little more shocked," she admits cautiously. She has a giant pretzel in one hand. The sidewalk is empty except for the two of them.

Arthur doubts he'll ever know _why_ she told him. It's a betrayal of trust, and the information comes too late to be explained away as a tactical necessity. If she had said something before they got in over their heads—before they stepped onto that plane and dropped into Fischer's subconscious—he would have understood. There was real danger there. A warning would have been appropriate, maybe even necessary.

He almost asks her ' _why now_?' Why tell him now and not when he genuinely needed to know?

Instead he says, "I knew Mal was a problem. I knew she was getting more powerful the longer he refused to let her go." He shrugs. "And I had my suspicions about inception." How could he not after that tense flight to Paris—after the moment Cobb confessed that he'd done it before, meeting Arthur's eyes stubbornly and steadily, daring Arthur to make a confrontation out of it.

"I'm just surprised you're taking this so well," Ariadne says. She fidgets with a doughy corner of her pretzel. "I'm glad. But surprised."

Arthur keeps his expression blank and turns his attention towards a department store window.

"I appreciate your telling me," he says. It's the polite thing to say, even if he's not sure he means it.

He confesses the entire conversation to Cobb two days later, at a corner deli with file folders and papers strewn across the table between them.

He never could keep secrets from his best friend and business partner. He can't imagine starting now.

"I'm sorry," Cobb blurts even before Arthur has finished.

"I know," Arthur says. The shadow of guilt falling over Cobb's face is kind of a giveaway.

The guilt quickly gives way to surprised confusion.

"Aren't you going to ask why I didn't tell you?"

"Do you want to answer that question?" Arthur counters blandly.

Cobb looks away without responding, which seems like answer enough. The table between them is suddenly too wide a space, and Arthur watches Cobb swallow and stare out the sunlit window beside them.

Arthur finds himself surprised at the sudden sense of distance settling in around him. He should be frustrated, maybe even insulted, and instead there's a cocoon of detachment closing in.

Then Cobb looks straight at him, sudden and jarring and sharp, and the look is so intense that it knocks Arthur flat.

So much for a protective cocoon of detachment. As fast as that Arthur's heart goes racing behind his ribs, and beneath the table his hand closes into a fist. His other hand, the one resting palm down over one of the closed folders, twitches but doesn't otherwise betray him.

"I knew you'd never leave," Cobb says, holding Arthur locked in place with nothing but his piercing stare. His tone is thick and reverent, confessional, and it makes Arthur's collar feel too tight. "But I couldn't bear to bring you down with me."

"I don't understand," Arthur says. It's a better response than his other leading alternatives, most of which involve begging Cobb to stop talking.

"You were the only good thing I had left," says Cobb, and Arthur desperately wants to look away. He can't, though. Cobb's gaze is blue and keen and bright, and Arthur can't break free.

"Please—," Arthur says. ' _Don't_ ,' he thinks he wants to say.

But Cobb doesn't let him. Cobb steamrolls full speed ahead, unstoppable now that he's found the path.

"You kept me on my feet," Cobb says. "You kept me from getting lost. If it weren't for you, I'd have fallen too hard to ever get back up again."

"You're exaggerating." Arthur's face feels hot.

"I'm not," says Cobb.

When Cobb's gaze finally falls to the table, Arthur feels relief blow through his chest. He should say something here—something about Cobb's strength, about his children, about how Cobb would've found a way back to them even without Arthur's help. But something in the set of Cobb's shoulders tells Arthur that his words won't be heeded anyway.

He finally settles on, "You chose to live. I just helped pick up the pieces."

Cobb doesn't respond to that statement, and Arthur supposes that's as close to a victory as he's going to get.

Silence hangs awkwardly between them for a long moment. Both of them stare unseeing at the array of papers on the table. The waitress appears at Arthur's elbow just long enough to refill their coffee mugs, then disappears through the door behind the cash register.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," Cobb finally repeats. "It was unforgivably selfish."

Arthur doesn't need to say that he's already finished forgiving, even if Cobb's not wrong. They both already know.

When Cobb looks at him again, his eyes are no less intense and Arthur feels the same warm jolt in his chest. Dizziness hits him sudden and hard. He has to blink to clear away the sense of vertigo, and when he does he still finds himself faced with Cobb's unwavering attention.

"Are we okay?" Cobb asks. He reaches across the table with one hand, as though to seek reassurance through touch, but he stops short and his hand lands bare inches away from Arthur's. Arthur stares at the space between their fingers and wonders what it would feel like to close that distance.

"Why wouldn't we be okay?" he asks through a tight throat. He doesn't realize until the words have hit the open air just how stupid his question is.

"Arthur, please," Cobb says. His voice is soft, but it carries quiet desperation. "I can't do this if you don't… I need you."

"You don't need me." It's a simple enough truth. Cobb needed Mal. He needs his kids. Arthur is a different story.

But Cobb moves suddenly, closing those inches of table between them to lay his hand over Arthur's. His fingers close around Arthur's wrist, strong and insistent, and tighten until Arthur finally meets Cobb's eyes.

He finds a fire there that he doesn't expect.

"Don't ever say that again," Cobb growls. He sounds furious, the same anger reflecting on his face for a moment before his expression smoothes back out. He doesn't release Arthur's wrist. In a more carefully measured voice, Cobb says, "I do need you. I need you a hell of a lot more than I should."

Something hesitant flashes behind Cobb's eyes, something quick and scared and gone again so fast Arthur almost thinks he imagined it. He wonders what Cobb has to be scared of, what he can possibly think his words have given away that Arthur doesn't already know.

Then he realizes Cobb's hand is still a point of heated contact over Arthur's own, Cobb's pulse a physical sensation against Arthur's skin.

Arthur looks down at their joined hands, and Cobb withdraws too quickly.

It's enough to settle the last pieces of the puzzle securely into place.

"Oh," Arthur says.

He finds Cobb watching him when he raises his eyes. The fear is fading quickly, replaced by a look that's new and considering. Waiting for Arthur's reaction to this revelation—for Arthur to jerk away from the table, maybe, or flee the diner in a dramatic fit. When Arthur does neither of those things, Cobb reaches forward again—deliberate but tentative—and brushes warm fingers over Arthur's knuckles.

Arthur opens his hand beneath Cobb's touch. He doesn't pull away.

"Do you want to get out of here?" Cobb asks. His voice is heavy with meaning. Arthur's pulse instantly speeds at the implication.

He nods, pulling away enough to start gathering up papers and folders and pens. Everything fits neatly into his satchel, and he slings it over his shoulder as he stands. Cobb tosses a generous handful of bills on the table behind them, apparently too impatient to waste time waiting for their tab.

When Arthur turns toward the door, Cobb grabs him by the elbow and stops him mid-step. Turns him around so that they're standing too close, breathing each other's air. _Making a goddamn spectacle in the middle of the diner_ , Arthur thinks, though he can't make himself step away from Cobb's gravitational pull.

Cobb's kiss, when it comes, is light and chaste. Quick and almost careless, though Arthur knows it's anything but.

"Come on," Cobb says when he pulls back.

He sets a hand at the small of Arthur's back, and Arthur lets himself be steered out into the sunlight.


End file.
